Things I miss (a prenatal list)

I miss:

My uncomplicated relationship with food.  Back in the day food and I were best friends.  We never questioned the other's intentions.  We both knew moderation was key.  We enjoyed each other's company and then moved on with our lives. As of late, we fight, the anger my meals have with me lingers and I suffer.  It's a love/hate relationship.  I have become distrustful and don't know where we stand from one minute to the next.

Dr. Pepper. The saddest part is that I miss it psychologically.  I don't crave it-- not one bit.  But I miss waiting at the fountain to get a refill, I miss the carbonation, and I miss the company a Route 44 provides through a long afternoon.  Dare I say, I even miss the little Mexican lady at Sonic? Does she think about me?

Wearing something other than my black yoga pants.  How many days in a row can you wear the same pants without people noticing?  I'll tell you when I get there.  So far its been three days.  Which brings me to the question-- Why don't they make maternity pants in long?  Tall people get pregnant too you know.  It's bad enough we have to wear maternity pants, but when they are clearly too short?  Come on.

My jawline.  Granted, it's never been strong, but you used to be able to see the change between my chin and my neck.

Motivation.  I never had much of it, but now that it's totally gone...

A few weeks ago Kitty had a stomach bug and she said to me: "I really wish the baby didn't make us so sick."

Blog humbug!

I don't know what I'm going to write about- I just wanted to use the title. I thought it was clever.

I fixed our tree, but never found our missing box of fragile and meaningful ornaments. Where could it have gone? Jared and I scoured every possible location and came up empty. The real problem is that it contains Kitty's very own ballerina ornament that she has been waiting to get out ALL year. It must also have her stocking too since her's is the only one missing. I told Kitty that it meant she doesn't get Christmas this year. She didn't think that was funny.

I haven't decided about Christmas cards this year. Don't be sad if you don't get one from us, I haven't been in the mood. Don't be sad if you are my neighbor and you don't get any goodies either (for the second year in a row) it's just too hard. Don't be sad if you are my relative and you don't get a card, a gift, or a goodie of any sort from us, I've been lazy this year. I'll try to make up for it in the coming year (but not by remembering your birthday).

Reality bites.

I am probably the only one who watches TV and admires the houses the character's live in.  For example, I wanted to live in the world of Pushing Daisies.  If you ever watch the Disney show, Good Luck Charlie don't forget to notice the very cool decor (I swear it is an updated Who's the Boss? set).  I don't know how these make-believe families pull off "cool" without it looking too cluttered.  Not to mention the colors.  You know, Nanny McPhee?  If you don't know what I mean watch it again and notice the colors.  I tend to like green woodwork, pink chairs, velvety pillows in chartreuse. 

Sadly, I discovered a more realistic representation of my home: The Middle. If you have never seen the show, I encourage you to tune in for a tour of my home, complete with fingerprints around the light switches. 

Here's the state of our Christmas tree:

I may or may not fix it. 

It just keeps getting better.

I came down with a freak case of pneumonia this weekend.  It was awesome.  But the best part of it was that during the whole ordeal the medical personnel would warn me about the risks of some of the tests on pregnant mothers.  Then when the test was complete they would smile and say, "Oh, and congratulations on your pregnancy!" Because what I really needed at that moment was their insincere happiness that I was pregnant while I suffered from pain and had to risk my unborn child's health to get to the bottom of it.

I am getting exponentially better every day, but unfortunately, the nausea remains.  Barf.

John's list

Ok so first of all, I am pretty much out of commission these days.  I have nothing to blog about but vomit, the comfort of my bed, and lack of daily chores getting done.  But today I came across John's list for Santa. What do you do when a boy who fully believes in Santa asks for the following:

1. Chain saw

2. Regular saw

3. Pet alien

4. Tazer

John continues to do things that make me think his Papa and Bompa would be proud.  This week one of his homework assignments was to write how to make a paper airplane.  He struggled for a while and then was quickly finished.  When I asked to see it he threw a paper airplane at me that had a note attached to it that said, "unfold".  That was his answer to the assignment: just unfold the one he made and you should be able to figure it out. 

6 weeks, 1 day--no more no less.

I figured since my children inadvertantly found out and since Kitty has been spilling the beans to anyone within ear-shot, I might as well make the formal announcement.  Ready, here it is, all creative-like and cutesy:

#3 due July 4

Ugh.  If you know me at all, you know that I am not one of those glowingly happy pregnant people.  In fact, I turn into Eeyore and can't stop complaining (everytime I read over that last sentence I read "eyesore" instead of Eeyore, which might be just as fitting). 

My house smells like pot-roast, and not in a yummy Sunday dinner kind of way.

I hate the new air fresheners I put in the bathrooms last month, I am considering burying them in the backyard.

The Febreze laundry detergent is going to cause nausea for YEARS to come, just as even looking at maternity clothes brings on the dry heaves again.

You know it's bad when you drive through Sonic at happy hour and order a Limeade, what?

Here's the thing though... I figure I earned my bad attitude back in 2001 when I was really sick for a really long time (not 9 mos, but still).  I've done my time with misery.  Anything that comes up after that is just above and beyond what should be expected from any normal person.  To quote my favorite Modern Family character, Cam: "and I would not make a very inspirational disabled person..."

Misery loves company and if you don't like it then don't come around and talk to me.

Catching up with some missing photos

Halloween!

Daniel Boone, Davey Crockett, or Daddy, depending on the mood.



Off with your head!

  

We had issues with the costume...



 I just found these stored on the internal memory card on the camera.  Oops.

Preschool Graduation May 2010

Tacky craft post

I always loved and admired my Grandmother's rag rugs that were made by her mother.  The rugs were starting to fall apart and so she and my aunt unraveled them and now looking at the balls of fabric are just as enjoyable as looking at the rugs themselves.  I have been wanting to make my own rug out of scraps I had on hand and I finally did it.

And now you can too--

Rag rug tutorial:

First rip strips of fabric and then start crocheting them in a circle.  When you get to the end of a strip just tie the next one on.  Get about halfway through your fabric and decided that tying all the strips together isn't working out.  Unravel what you've done so far.  Sew all the ends of the fabric strips together.  Start to crochet again, in what you think might make a circle.  Finish the rug, put it in the bathroom and look at how uneven and uncircular it is every day for a week.  Take it all out again.  Let your children play with all the fabric and get it severely tangled.  Untangle it and start over in what you now think might be an oval.  Finish it and call it good.

I want to make another, bigger, more colorful one, but I don't know that I can make the shape consistent-- that's the hardest part for me.  I can make something once, but duplication is impossible.

Some voting advice

As this political season gets into full swing I thought I would create a cheat-sheet for those of you who want to vote but don't want to read up on the candidates and amendments.  Here's the thing though, I don't always know how to spell the candidates names or what district they are running in or even their party affiliation-- you can figure it out.

I created this list in about ten minutes (mostly from memory, a few while watching t.v.):

Ed Purlmutter: He's not slick, he's a workhorse.

Cory Gardner: The wind taxes and the hypocrisy will blow you away.

Salazar:  He can't say no to Pelosi so we need to say no to Salazar.

Michael Bennett: He spends, we pay.  Bigger government, less money, more pain. He's their senator, not ours.  He's nobody's senator but yours.

Ken Buck: He's too extreme for Colorado.  Colorado is not for sale.  He doesn't get it so lets not get him.

Oh yeah, and one more....

Tom Tancredo:  He'll stop illegal immigration cold.  And if you don't think it can be done, just watch him.

And don't forget-- Amendments 60, 61, and another one I can't remember (101?) will KILL jobs.

There you go!  You can thank me later.

For the sake of a new post

The other day I ran to the store to buy dog food.  I went to the self checkout and lifted the 50 lb. bag to the scanner.  I scanned it and then felt something give.  The bottom of the bag ripped open and 50 lbs. of stinky dog food came crashing down on my feet.  Everyone around stopped and stared.  I heard some gasps and I stood there wondering if I could just run away. The guy told me to go get another bag and as I turned to run and get one I slipped on the crunchy morsels under my feet. I didn't fall, but I sure had my audience guessing for a minute there.

 Banana peels have nothing on dry dog food. 

True confession.

I've been feeling the blogging itch again and since I am sitting here avoiding work I decided it was time for a true confession post.  This one is a little embarrassing but I promise there is a lesson to be gleaned.

This story takes place during my Graduate school years (ie. I was old enough to know better).  A few years prior my sister had an "I love Jesus" air freshener hanging from her rear view mirror in her car.  It was a funny rainbow colored thing and we thought it was funny/cool.  We had a funny little fascination with various items of "I love Jesus" pop culture.

Fast forward to when I was a Teaching Assistant as a Grad student.  It was a winter morning when I noticed a black knit hat laying on the floor under a desk after class.  I went to pick it up and discovered it had a patch on the front.  An "I [heart] Jesus" patch.  It was too good to be true.  I had visions of wearing the hat, the conversations it might spark, and all the cool kids I might attract with it.  The hat would scream, "That's right, I said it, and I'm cool." 

I grabbed the hat and stuffed it in my backpack.  The only problem was-- I had a pretty good idea of who the hat belonged to.  I tried to shrug off the guilt and finished my day.  I saw the hat's owner a few times on campus that day, which only compounded my guilt.  When I got home I realized that my backpack had been totally open with the hat stuffed in clear sight.  Had the owner seen it?  Most likely.

A week goes by and I'm afraid to wear the hat.  The irony that I had stolen an "I love Jesus" hat was not lost on me.  In class I hear the owner complain to a friend that someone stole their hat and why would anyone want an "I love Jesus" hat anyway? I convince myself the owner says this knowing I was the dummy who took the hat.

The more embarrassing part?  When I brought the hat back to the classroom and just left it there for the owner to find.  Why didn't I just make up a lie about how I found it after class and was intending to return it?  Because once you steal something you can't think straight.

The moral?  If you truly love Jesus, you don't have to steal to prove it.

Here's the thing--

I'm nosey.  I prefer to call myself an observer, but really I like to snoop and come to my own conclusions.  But not in a bad, uncomfortable, voyeuristic way-- just in a curious "I'm understanding your story" way.

I've been this way ever since I can remember.  I remember finding the Prenatal vitamins in my parent's bathroom and knowing something was up before my mom announced the impending birth of my youngest sister.

Don't freak out, but if you have your blinds open and lights on at night, I am going to be peering into your house as I drive by.  Would it be strange if I were to knock on the door of the house on the corner and ask to see how their downstairs level differs from mine?  Yes it would.  Is it easier to just drive by slowly and come to my own conclusion?  Yes it is.

I read into cryptic conversation.  I notice when you might be going to an OB in the same building as John's counselor.  I am a detective.  I find things out.  I notice when one person seems to endlessly comment on your status updates on Facebook.  Speaking of Facebook...  if you are interesting to me, I will snoop your profile to figure out who you are and why.  I can come up with so much untyped information about you by reading between the lines... looking at pictures...

So pretty much, if this post makes you uncomfortable don't worry, I already know your secrets.

John's "Happy Place"

Dear Grammie and Bompa,

Priest Lake 2010

You may have heard that John has been having a difficult time getting to and staying asleep.  We have recently started using some guided imagery techniques to help him relax and feel safe.  This is John's account of his happy place:

We are at Great-Grammie and Bompa's lake.  We are relaxing in the hammock looking up into the trees and into the sky.

John and Logan in the hammock 2008.



The Big Cedars, 2008.

The air feels fresh and smells a little mossy from the trees. We can hear Kitty playing at the beach with Sophie but they aren't playing or laughing too loud so it isn't annoying. 



Sophie and Kitty, 2009.

 

If we look toward the house we see Great-Grammie in the kitchen preparing lunch.  Sometimes we can see her at the window by the sink, or maybe sitting at the island.  We know that Bompa is right where he belongs-- working on his computer in the room where John found the Big Mouth Billy Bass. 

Everything is peaceful and calm.  Everything is right in the world.

Just thought you'd like to know that your house has always been my happy place too!

We love you and miss you!

A random post...again

I was running a little late but needed to stop for my Sonic Happy Hour Route 44oz Dr. Pepper. 

I was speeding down the freeway at over 75 mph when I reached to take a drink of my soda.

All of the sudden the lid popped off and the drink spilled all over my lap and the floor.

The order of my thoughts:
1. MY DRINK!!!  GONE!!!
2. At least it spilled on my thighs and not my-
3. Crap it's flowing under my legs and settling into a puddle at the back of the seat
4. Do I have a change of clothes?
5. I'd better pull over.

I pulled over, climbed over the seats and grabbed a towel from the back.  Wiped up my seat, emptied the floor mat and got back on the road. 

Knowing I would soon arrive at my destination I turned the air to high and opened the windows and sunroof hoping to dry my pants off a little.

(I actually considered taking my pants off to let them dry by hanging them outside the window, but I didn't think I could maneuver to get them off and then back on again).

75 mph with the windows open is a little too gusty and the pants didn't seem to be getting any better.

So I closed the windows and the sunroof.

I moved my head a little to the right and realized I had closed a whole chunk of my hair in the sunroof (remember-- gusty).

I got to the soccer store, took a deep breath, swallowed my pride and went in looking like a harried lady who waited too long to find a restroom. 

No wonder no one wanted to help me.
Try as I might, I will never quite grasp the art of being a "soccer mom".

A day in the life...

Welcome to my world.

1. Find two kids.
2. Find two dogs.
3. Find my shoes.
4. Name the show on the TV.
5. Count the cars.
6. Find my sanity.

What's another word for cracker?

I pride myself in being pretty self-sufficient.  I like being able to fix things, put things together, figure things out-- you get the idea. 

He may not be super organized, he may be a borderline hoarder, he may talk like a sailor, and he may be just a tad bit obsessive-compulsive, but every once in a while Jared impresses me with his hidden talents.

Last night as I finished up the dishes I called to Jared, "I smell gas."  He just laughed and blamed it on the dogs.  "No. Like natural gas."

He asked me to get him a bowl of soapy water and he went out to our gas line and brushed it with the water.  Sure enough, a little bubble began to form and we had pin-pointed the leak. 

I asked him where he learned this technique and he told me it was from his book, Cracker Ingenuity.  What I thought was a tacky book he asked me to send him while he served in Iraq actually turned out to be useful.

I am proud to be associated with my self-proclaimed "cracker" husband.

Some irritants

I've been irritated a lot lately:

• Politians wearing chambray shirts with the wilderness in the background of their commercials.
• People who think they are self confident but their actions show otherwise.
• People who are cheap-- there is a difference between being thrifty and being cheap.
• The fact that Dyson does not sell replacement belts at any stores in Castle Rock.
• Soccer culture
• Parents who wear pajama pants and slippers to pick up their children at 4pm.
• People who don't return your friendly smile.
• Plantar Fasciitus
• People complaining about their self-imposed problems.
• Needy people who crave attention.
• Local news (what else is new?)
• NPR's new weekend schedule
• Annoying Muzak in public places (ie. Michaels, Homegoods, Nordstrom Rack)
• People who get in my personal space while shopping.

It's not you, it's me.

Deja Vu

As I stood in the slowest refreshment line at the movies this afternoon I observed a family in front of me.  The mother was the first to catch my eye, she was massively tall-- almost freakishly tall.  Really, she was like maybe three inches taller than me. And not only was she tall, she was big too.  Not fat, just solid, not unlike Jane Lynch. 

Then I noticed her husband.  He was a full head shorter than his wife.  He wasn't super skinny, just shorter and it jarred me.  Then I saw their 12-13 year old daughter.  She clearly took after her mother-- encroaching on her father's height. The mom wasn't beautiful, in fact, she had hard features and looked a little tired, haggard, and old.  The dad looked like he was trying to stay young with his shorts, shoes, and earring. In fairness, the mom also looked like she was clinging to her youth with peroxide blond hair and tattoos, she just didn't pull it off.  So not only was the wife taller, but she looked markedly older than her husband.

Remember Mark?  I don't like to talk about him much, but he was an old boyfriend that was significantly shorter than me.  I'm not going to lie, the height discrepancy bothered me a lot at first.  I distinctly remember Jaime telling me to "embrace it" or something like that and so I went with it.  We had nearly every class together, we worked at the museum together, we were pretty much inseparable. Eventually I hardly noticed towering over him.

I vividly remember, however, standing in line at Movies 8 in Provo with Mark and realizing what a mismatched couple we made.  I didn't like feeling like the big one in the relationship. 

I wondered what the people behind us in line thought.  Today I found out.

Sooo glad to have dodged that bullet in more ways than one.

Current events

Remember in grade and middle school when you had to cut out articles from the newspaper, summarize them and express your opinion about them?  I wonder, do they do that anymore seeing as newspapers are obsolete...  I hated doing it, but have found myself itching to express my opinion on several of the current events in our world.

Today I would like to talk about the trapped Chilean miners.  I read that there were 33 of them trapped in a room roughly 150 sq feet with a few narrow tunnels below them.  I also read that it is plenty of space for them.  Maybe if you choose to be a miner you don't have issues with personal space.

A few weeks ago they were talking about having the men establish a "clean zone" and a "dirty zone".  The dirty zone is for where the men are supposed to exercise because several of the men are bigger than the escape route will be.  Call me crazy, but if you are going to be trapped in a mine for up to four months I have a feeling you are going to lose weight.  I hardly think a diet is going to help. As a matter of fact, I read today that they are now sending down high protein, high calorie liquid food for them because they have all lost an average of 22 lbs.

Finally, I am sorely disappointed that my most burning question has been avoided in the press-- Where are they going to the bathroom??? I've seen first hand how quickly a port-a-potty fills up with less than 33 people in a week. 

Am I the only person wondering about that?

A real solicitation for advice.

Here's the thing...
We are struggling with bedtime in a major way around here.  John gets fixated on the fact that he can't sleep and won't let himself fall asleep.  Then once asleep he wakes up screaming from bad dreams and won't go back to sleep until I snuggle with him.  I feel like the mother of a newborn-- I've been up with him at least 5 times a night for the past week.

And it's not just at bedtime.  The irrational fear is creeping into our everyday life too.  He asks me to accompany him to the bathroom "just to get started" and so I can check behind the shower curtain.  He won't venture into any part of the house alone.  He usually asks Kitty to go with him.

I've discussed it with our pediatrician, counselor, and psychiatrist.  They have all said the same thing, "Yeah.  That's the anxiety and OCD manifesting itself..." They have made suggestions.  We have tried them and are still struggling.

Just so you don't duplicate here is a run-down of things we have already tried:

Conducting a "room inspection" to make sure everything is safe before turning off the light.
Turning up the sound machine to drown out any other noises.
Bringing the dog in to sleep with and protect him.
Sleepy time tea.
Hot shower before bed.
Letting him read until he gets tired enough to fall asleep (ie. 12 am)
Writing a list of "good thoughts" to choose from.
Praying (usually with the "please bless me to fall asleep instantly" caveat).
Letting him sleep in my bed.
Yelling.
Letting him have a melt down in his room (aka the "cry it out" method).

Help.

Fancy Party

The Fancy Nancy party is over and I think everyone had a blast!  Here are the highlights:

Sandy's famous cupcakes... Fancy!

Five years ago today...

I didn't even know this existed until today...  As if being born isn't enough... 

Motivation problem

Here's the thing...

I can't think of anything fun or witty to write about-- so get over it.  I hate when "the blog" starts to smell stale and when it sits on my shoulder begging to be updated. 

It's true my kids are in school all day.  It's true I had tons of plans and tons of motivation the first week they went back.  It's true that last week everything went out the window and the motivation was lost.  Do you know how I lost the motivation?  I started thinking about it too much. 
 
If you ever need to lose your motivation (because really, it's not worth keeping), just make a list of all the projects you've started and never finished, oh yeah, and include the one's you never started but meant to a few years ago.

Here's an example:

The kitchen has two different counter tops
The bathroom has half the tiles on the wall
The TV stand is not painted
Those chairs are STILL here
The laundry room is a mess
The garage needs to be cleaned out before it snows
The weeds are almost taller than the fence (and when they get taller than the fence then the neighbors might notice...)
The car still needs new tires
Did you vacuum within the last five days? 
Kitchen curtains? Yeah, didn't think so.
Garage sale or Craigslist?

Oh, and here are a few other ways to get rid of that pesky motivation:

Run errands
Go to lunch
Watch HGTV
Read your blog list
Catch up on Facebook
Take a shower (because really, it's a waste to clean your house after you've showered)

There you have it. I don't need advice, I give it.

First Day 2010

I knew I had something I wanted to put on the blog, but forgot what it was until my Mother-in-law asked about first day of school pictures...

Katherine started all day Kindergarten!  She LOVES it.

I can't believe John is in 2nd grade this year.  He doesn't quite hate it.

John was complaining about the rules his teacher has been enforcing and I said, "Well, that's her job." And he said, "So you mean she's getting PAID to be mean and torture children?"

Pretty much.

Not the "magic" variety

Every year Bogda (my Polish neighbor, remember?) and her sister spend a day in the nearby mountains gathering mushrooms.  She is an expert mushroom hunter.  I have been to her kitchen more than once to see wild mushrooms spread on newspapers covering every flat surface.  She has explained to me how delicious "real" mushrooms are.  I have explained to her how nervous I am about eating foraged mushrooms. 

She told me a story about some French people she and her sister encountered on a mushroom hunt who were also looking for the best wild mushrooms.  But by the questions they were asking, Bogda could tell they knew nothing about mushrooms.  She thought it was funny that they were French-- what do they know of mushroom hunting?

A few years ago I watched from the sidewalk as Bogda harvested mushrooms from our neighbors' yards as we walked to and from the school.  Later, when Kitty brought her one that she found in our yard, Bogda explained that she discovered the mushrooms from the yard are "not good taste".

When I encountered these tasty little morsels while mowing the lawn yesterday I thought of Bogda and her words of warning lest you feel confident enough to hunt mushrooms yourself:

"Eat for breakfast, dead by lunch."

Which is why Jared has made me promise not to indulge in Bogda's mushrooms.

Vacation pictures... jealous?

I'm super impatient.  So I don't blame anyone for skipping over this post of tons of pictures.  This is one of those posts that goes down for posterity.  Although, I acknowledge that I do have a few "readers" who prefer blogs with pictures, so if you qualify-- this one is for you.

I have been going to Priest Lake for 20 years. I have only missed a few summers. We love it, and now my kids love it too. John had tears when we left, and for a few nights after we got home. He misses it that much. When he was crying on the way to the airport, Kitty said, "I know! Let's think about what we won't miss."

We made this list:


Big bugs (I think we saw three)
Getting sand in your bottom
Rinsing sand off your feet

That's all we could come up with...

She asked me to take this picture-- it is totally posed.

Kitty's energy quickly ran out and she couldn't keep from laying on the sand and going to sleep.

Ok, really?  I forgot to format this one?  Turn your computer. Remember? Impatient.  Steep, rickety stairs leading down to the river.

Drive-by fishing at the bottom of the stairs.

Love this boy.  Don't love the freckled, wrinkled look I'm sporting. Hand me the airbrush...

Kitty's photos of the flowers at the gallery.

Kitty's version again.

Kitty's shadow.

Until next year...

My nephew, the pole dancer

Have you heard all the buzz about the health benefits of pole dancing? 

 

Vacation blues

So here's the thing...

Coming home from vacation is hard.  It sucks, actually. 

Why does it seem like we come home to chaos even though I (mostly) cleaned the house before we left?
Why is it so hard to unpack? 

Why do you spend the whole first day back trying to organize and refind a semblance of control?

My house always looks a little funny to me when I come back from a long trip.  It's like I see it with new eyes.  Why did I hang that picture there?  What was I thinking when I chose those drapes?  I still hate those chairs.

Did you know the average noxious weed will grow to your waist in ten days? 

And then there's the catching up with local and world events.  There might be big news I totally missed while I was gone and for some stupid reason that stresses me out.  Like the dream I had last night that Glenn Beck was missing (some might call it a nightmare, others- too good to be true, I'll leave that up to you).  I almost googled it this morning thinking it was a real news story I missed while on vacation.

At the lake I spend time idealizing how to make daily life better.  Especially now that school is getting ready to start.  I make plans.  I visualize all the projects I finally finish.  I can see it happening.  I get motivated.

I cross the threshold and it all goes whooshing out the front door.  I remember why I was stuck in the first place.

Vacation posts coming as soon as Kitty and I get over the depression of reality.

The Sandpoint Mystery

We spent Saturday in Sandpoint, Idaho.  So did a gang of boys in coordinated cut-off shorts.  Luckily John was willing to pose in front of their Frisbee game...

I also inadvertently got another picture of them in the background when I snapped one of Beth and Penn.

Then they decided to play a game of basketball.  First they took off their shoes.  I guess you don't need to wear shoes when you don't really know how to play anyway.  Then some guy in baggy shorts and shirt joined the game.  He actually knew how to play-- even with the cigarette in his mouth.  Wish I had a picture of that.

Jared tried to convince us they were gay because there wasn't a fat one in the group.  I don't understand his logic, but he was adamant. The rest of us remained undecided.